Mom appeared in the doorway as I zipped the suitcase. “You’re being ridiculous. Sleep on it and we’ll discuss this in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” I replied, surprised by my own calm. “You’ve made your position clear. I’m making mine clear, too.”

I wheeled my suitcase past her, grabbed my backpack from the hook by the front door, and stepped out into the night. No one called after me. No one tried to stop me.

That night, I slept in my car in the Walmart parking lot, using my work uniform as a pillow. For two weeks I kept that routine—working my three jobs, sleeping in my car, showering at the gym where I had a discount membership. I told no one.

On the fifteenth day, Professor Diane Reynolds, my computer science teacher, noticed me dozing in the library. She gently woke me and asked if everything was all right. Something in her kind eyes broke my carefully maintained composure, and I told her everything. That evening, she drove me to her house and showed me her guest room.

“It’s yours until you figure things out,” she said simply. “No one should face this alone.”